


Expiration Date

by NoMercy



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Adorable Daryl, Alternate Universe - College/University, Daryl Dixon & Glenn Rhee Friendship, F/M, Finals Week, Gen, Hyper Rick, Multi, Shopping at Terminus Grocery at 2-something in the morning during Finals Week, Tired Daryl, Tired Maggie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 09:28:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7752232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoMercy/pseuds/NoMercy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Glenn hates math on a good day, when he’s had six hours of sleep and a breakfast of caffeine and leftover cold pizza before sitting in a two-hour, three times a week class dedicated to it. </p><p>Walking around Terminus Grocery at two-something in the morning on an empty stomach does not <i>ever</i> constitute a good day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Expiration Date

“We’re _not_ leaving her in the car.”

“Glenn, come on, man, it’s not that big of a deal. It’s not like someone’s going to break into the car and steal it with her inside of it or anything.”

“Oh my God! Yes, there, exactly! Someone’s going to break into my car to steal it-.”

“I literally just said that that _wasn’t_ going to happen.”

“-and they’ll take her with them. She’ll be gone, somewhere with potentially dangerous strangers, because we left her in the car.”

“Jesus Christ – why’d ya get’m started?”

“Can’t leave her here. Nope. No way, anything could happen.”

“We won’t be in there that long.”

“Long enough!”

“Could jus’ wake ‘er up.”

“Hell no. She’s barely gotten any sleep this week because of her finals.”

“… _None_ of us have gotten much sleep this week because of finals.”

“And I wouldn’t wake one of _you_ guys up just to go grocery shopping if you’d fallen asleep in the car.”

“No, one of us you’d probably just leave in the car to get taken by someone trying to steal it-.”

_“Hey!”_

Glenn can’t determine which catches his attention first – Rick’s loud voice, which is far too cheerful for two-something in the morning of the Wednesday of Finals Week, or the cold corner of the cart that pushes lightly into his hip.

“We can just put her in this.” Rick is grinning madly as if he’s solved the riddle of mankind’s purpose in the universe. Indeed, Tyreese claps him on the shoulder as such with a mumbled _good job, man_ that’s a bit premature.

But the cart looks cold under Glenn’s eye. All chilled metal bars and spaces in the basket just big enough to be uncomfortable. He’s always thought they look more like cages on wheels than anything else, and the thought of putting her in one of them –

“Hey. No, no. It’s alright.” Rick’s hand briefly finds Glenn’s arm before it’s gone again, and the older man begins to shrug off the (unnecessarily) heavy jacket he’s always wearing. “I don’t mean like that; that’s just cruel. Here.” He spreads the jacket along the corner of the cart, up to the top and along the bottom enough that it can, theoretically, be long enough for her to lay on. Rick’s smile is a little softer as he steps back. “See? Padded enough that she won’t even know she was moved. It’ll be fine.” He gives them all a look that’s half amused and half warning. “Let her _sleep_.”

Glenn isn’t really given a chance to actually decide if it’ll be fine or not, because Daryl has already scooped Maggie out from the passenger seat of the car and into his arms, brows lifted challengingly. Maggie groans a little as she’s lowered into the cart – more of a disgruntled grumble that makes Glenn instinctively twitch – but the next second she’s curling into Rick’s jacket with a little huff, her moves stilling and her breath going deep again.

Rick’s incredibly radiant smile returns.

Daryl steps back with a snort.

Carol gives Glenn a firm but gentle push toward the steering bar of the cart and starts walking toward the entrance of the store. “Let’s get the food and get out of here,” she calls without looking back.

They all follow her obediently, Glenn pushing the cart slowly, mindful of his steps.

He’s been so focused on Maggie that he hasn’t realized how unnaturally silent Bob is being.

 

* * *

 

 

They’ve been in the store for five goddamn minutes and Glenn has absolutely no idea where Bob is.

He doesn’t exactly feel guilty about that.

They’ve split up to get this done quicker – Tyreese, Carol, and Sasha to the back for milk and creamer and eggs; he and Daryl and Bob to the front for the dry food and coffee. Rick had disappeared down some middle aisle without a word, a look in his eyes they’ve all long-since learned not to question, but he’s generally fast about whatever he’s after. They’re not going to be in here long enough for Bob to cause any sorts of trouble.

And Glenn has his eye on Daryl.

“Shoulda gone ta Wal-Mart.” Daryl’s voice is low and husky, the way it usually gets when he’s gotten too tired (as well as too damn stubborn to actually go to sleep) and feels an inexplicable urge to be overly quiet. It’s only through ten months of almost non-stop Daryl time that Glenn even knows to listen for him. “’S’better.”

“Yeah, well, you’re banned from Wal-Mart, remember?” Glenn returns softly, cautiously guiding the cart around the corner as they move into the bread aisle, carefully giving Daryl’s shoulder a companionable bump light enough to not make him flinch. “After that time you shot Bob up with those Nerf arrows and made him knock over that entire liquor display?”

“…that was his own fault. Was already drunk ‘n’ jumpy.”

“Of course he was jumpy – you were shooting at him.” Glenn reaches around the other’s shoulders to snag three packs of store-brand wheat bread. “ _Shooting_ at him, Daryl.”

“With lil’ squishy arrows; he didn’ die or nothin’ – nah, man.” Daryl’s fingers wrap around Glenn’s wrist with their surprising strength before he can get the bread into the cart. “White bread’s fourteen cents cheaper. Get that.”

Damn it. “Stop doing math this early in the morning.” He only puts back two of the wheat loaves – Maggie doesn’t like the sugary taste of white bread.

“’S’not math. Says it right there on the tag if ya look.”

What the tag _says_ is $2.57 to the other tag’s $2.71, which probably is fourteen cents, but Glenn hates math on a good day, when he’s had six hours of sleep and a breakfast of caffeine and leftover cold pizza before sitting in a two-hour, three times a week class dedicated to it.

Walking around Terminus Grocery at two-something in the morning on an empty stomach does not _ever_ constitute a good day.

“’M’ just sayin’.” Daryl doesn’t reach for anything of his own, and probably won’t the entire time they’re in the store unless one of them tricks him into it – it’s a lot of work, but the other man never gets any food for himself otherwise. “Coulda left us ‘n’ gone ta Wal-Mart, gotten some real food. We’re not even doin’ anything helpful. Don’ even know where the fuck Bob is.’

Still not guilt for that.

“He probably went to Sasha, knowing them. And you _are_ helping me, look.” They round into the next aisle full of canned fruits and processed pasta. “Grab a couple cans of peaches, would you? I’ve got the ravioli.”

Glenn, personally, hates the hell out of peaches. Which is probably a sin in Georgia, but here he is.

Daryl, however, loves them, and since Glenn hasn’t specified a specific brand, he’ll probably go for his favorite since it’s relatively cheap.

Tricks.

Ravioli is sixty-nine cents a can – he snatches up an entire box full mostly because they’ll need it, but also because he knows it will annoy whoever the cashier is to have to ring every single one of them up. He also grabs a box of spaghetti rings for the same reasons, and slides both onto the shelf beneath the cart. When he stands back up, it’s in time to see Daryl slowly putting the cans of peaches into the cart in a precise pattern that will keep them from toppling over on Maggie when the cart moves, and has to bite back a smile. Daryl’s been bitching up and down his finals about one of his ‘lunatic’ professors who expects a fifteen-page paper with three solid examples of subtle but definite character development from within their readings – he doesn’t even realize he’s a damn guideline on how to identify it.

“Want me ta grab the mac’n’cheese?” Daryl’s eyes sweep the rest of the aisle. “Or is it shells’n’cheese this week?”

“No, that’s next time. Tyreese is going to splurge on hamburgers and brats for a cookout next weekend to celebrate his graduation and our passing. Just get the macaroni for now – oh! And a few packs of tuna? Carol apparently found a new recipe for a casserole she wants to try out.”

Daryl nods to the casserole – they’re all used to Carol’s need to experiment and feed (and the results are usually damn good), going for the requested items as he scoffs. “Passin’. Don’ know if I’m passin’. Fucken finals ‘n’ shit. Hell.”

 _Daryl_. “I know, right?” Glenn laughs instead of lecturing – Daryl’s brilliant and doesn’t _know it_ and that’s just something they all deal with. “Calc professor might as well have taken a bat to me and bashed my head in for how good I came out of that class. Swear I left brain splatter and skull bits all over the classroom floor, maybe even an eyeball. I don’t even want to know what my _grade_ is. Ugh.”

His friend feints chucking a can of tuna at him before adding them to his thoughtful arrangement in the cart. “Dunno why yer even still takin’ them classes. Ya hate business. _Numbers._ ”

Glenn starts pushing the cart again, grimacing. “You met my parents over Thanksgiving Break, Daryl.”

“Yeah. Just the memory makes me glad mine ain’t around.”

Wow, oh shit. The hair on the back of Glenn’s neck stands up as the leave the aisle. Family talk with Daryl Dixon is always walking the edge of a cliff into dangerous territory, and ten months of Daryl-time or not, he doesn’t know where to go from here. _Maggie_ always navigates whenever he gets himself into these talks, damn it-

They turn into the candy lane, and God must have decided to have some mercy on him, because _Rick_ is standing right there, still with his manic, over-tired grin, a large bag of Swedish Fish in his hands.

“Daryl!” Ricks cries out excitedly. “Daryl! You think Beth would like these? They’re shaped like _fish._ ” His head cocks to the side a bit, confusion flickering across his face. “That’s cute, right? Fish candy?”

And Daryl’s already silently laughing against Glenn’s side, shoulders shaking, because Rick’s a goddamn Daryl Whisperer, the freak, and walking toward him. “Dumbass. What’chu buyin’ Beth candy for, anyway?”

“The notecards she made for my psych final were _really_ helpful. I wanna say thank you.”

“With fish candy?”

“They’re _cute!_ ” Rick blinks in exaggerated slowness. “… Right? Kids like this sort of stuff, cute things.”

“She’s seventeen.”

“Yeah, as I said. Kid. Cute things.”

Glenn gets close enough at this point that Rick is able to take the two packs of Twizzlers (another favorite of Daryl’s) he’d been hiding behind his back and drop them at Maggie’s feet, Daryl too distracted by the bag of candy fish to notice. “Hell, Grimes, ya need sleep. Fucken fish candy.”

“Is that a yes or no?”

“Do I look like I know what kinda candy that girl likes?”

“You should probably try asking Maggie.” Carol’s voice chimes in suddenly over Rick’s shoulder, light and amused as it always is. The next second, three half-gallons of whole milk, four cartons of eggs, and two large bottles of coffee cream are added to the cart, along with an assorted collection of meats Glenn doesn’t really want to look twice at. _Terminus._ “She’d probably know, being Beth’s sister and all.”

“We are _not_ asking Maggie,” Glenn hisses, just in case anyone gets any ideas, “about fish candy.”

“Candy fish,” Rick corrects quickly, giving his head a little shake. “And of course we’re not. She’s sleeping. She needs to be sleeping.”

“ _You_ need to be sleeping,” Daryl shoots back, still with rare small smile on his face. Rick’s eyes narrow dangerously, and he reaches up to wrap a hand around the back of Daryl’s neck that has no force to the hold at all.

“No, _you_ need to be sleeping.”

“The word ‘hypocrite’ mean anything ta you, Grimes?”

“Yeah, it’s the word that has your picture next to it in the dictionary, right?”

Holy hell, they’ve been roommates for too long.

“ _Boys,_ ” Carol interrupts before Daryl and Rick can really get into it and risk waking Maggie up. “We all need to be sleeping, so let’s just get this stuff to the front – what was that?”

“-ainted meat!”

It’s cried out like a triumphant song, bursting out like the eruption of a radio song over the intercom in the quiet supermarket.

Glenn’s fingers tighten harshly over the cart’s bar. “That ...” he growls. “Sounds a lot like Bob.”

“Tainted meat!” Higher this time, a little more breathy.

“And Sasha,” Tyreese groans. “She was supposed to be keepin’ him occupied.”

“It’s expired! So expired! You’re selling tainted meat!”

Daryl snorts again, leaning in to elbow Rick as the other man outright laughs.

“Yeah, they’re occupying each other alright.”

“You’re selling tainted meat!”

Under Glenn’s hand, the cart moves, and he looks down to see Maggie’s exhausted, annoyed eyes staring up at him, a bag of Twizzlers in her hand.

“What's tainted?” She mumbles, smacking his hand lightly with the pack. She looks adorable, frown on her face and hair tangled, still pressed into Rick’s jacket. She glances down as her feet kick against a – looks like a pack of hotdogs – and wrinkles her nose as another chime of _“tainted meat!”_ reaches their ears. “We aren’t buyin’ that.”

“…Rick?” Daryl snatches the other Twizzler bag and holds it up with a slightly accusing air.

Glenn sighs as Rick moves over to him, expression completely innocent. “If you help me clean the living room I might share some with you.”

“The fuck you sayin’? I always clean the damn living room! Yer the one who don’t do shit.”

“Boys!” Carol interrupts again, louder now that Maggie’s awake. She’s frowning too, though. “They’re going to get us kicked out of here. If we get banned, it’s twenty-eight miles to the next twenty-four hour store.”

“You sound like you’ve researched that.”

“Oh, I have.”

**_“You’re selling tainted meat!”_ **

Tyrese shakes his head, giving the cart a small, pointed kick. “Let’s just get out of here.”

“Can’t yet,” Maggie mutters, snuggling back into Rick’s jacket and glaring at them all. Her fingers, now free of Twizzlers, curl around Glenn’s. “We still need cereal … and to put all this meat back.”

 

* * *

 

 

It’s now three-something in the morning, and it’s the owner’s youngest son, Alex, who is on register.

Glenn is a little disappointed that it isn’t Gareth. He loves screwing with Gareth.

They’ve gathered Bob and Sasha, who are both sneering at anyone and everyone wearing a Terminus Grocery uniform, but who are both staying quiet in their protest of Terminus meat since Tyreese is looming behind them in wait of transgression. Rick seems to be reaching the end of his energy reserves, his grin mostly gone and eyes drooping as he leans against Daryl, both of them flipping their way through a copy of the National Enquirer as they wait for the rest. Carol is chatting at Alex, spouting nonsense in either an attempt to annoy him or keep any further trouble from arising (it depends on her mood, but Glenn’s not exactly sure of what mood she’s in after three days of psychology finals), but the other man is still glaring daggers at Glenn as he scans one can of ravioli after another.

“Having a good morning, Alex?” He can’t help but ask.

 _‘Fuck you,’_ is the response, silently mouthed back.

“I saw that,” Maggie tells him. “It was rude.” She barely moves from her cocoon as she puts the food from the cart onto the counter, but her scowl is now on Alex, and Glenn doesn’t envy him a bit for it.

The amount of time spent in the store aside, they manage to get checked out very quickly and without getting either Sasha or Bob banned from Terminus, too. They’ve just gotten Maggie settled amongst the jacket and paper bags, her wide yawn starting off a round of jaw-popping yawns for them all, when Glenn notices that Bob _isn’t with them anymore._

“Tyreese,” he starts to warn, but it’s too late.

Bob is staring at the woman, probably another student, who had been behind them in line. He’s holding a packet of bacon from her cart in his hand.

“Do you know,” they can hear him clearly say as he points to the date stamped on the packaging, not eve attempting to keep his voice down. Alex looks ready to jump the counter. “That you’re buying _tainted meat?”_

“Bob!”

**Author's Note:**

> ( **Me to my sister:** You know what would be fun? Finding expired meat in a store, grabbing it, and running around screaming "Tainted meat! You're selling tainted meat!"  
>  **My sister:** I feel like you would get in a lot of trouble for doing that.  
>  **Me:** ... Bob would probably do it.)
> 
>  
> 
> This will probably be a series.


End file.
